


you're just like a dream

by princessjoey (fueledbyfemme)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Trauma Recovery, fluff basically, quarantine type fic, very very cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fueledbyfemme/pseuds/princessjoey
Summary: Steve and Robin take a different turn while escaping Starcourt Mall, and encounter a cell block. There's a teenage girl there.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Original Female Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	you're just like a dream

**Author's Note:**

> i was totally isolated in my dorm room with nothing to do due to coronavirus for about a month. this was the result. its a bit rough and extremely self-indulgent, but i hope you all enjoy it regardless! ive never written anything this long before and im really proud of myself. :)

Day 3,452:

The door banged open and I sat bolt upright. The other prisoners started shouting. I pressed my face up against the bars and saw two figures tumble into the end of the hall. A boy and a girl, about my age. The boy wore a childish blue sailor suit and the girl wore one that matched. Both of them were dirty, bruised, and bloody. The girl carried a bone saw and the boy carried a gun, one that looked Russian. Their weapons were clearly stolen. Both of them had red belts around their waists loaded with more torture instruments, and curiously, one ice cream scoop each. The pair started to run through the line of cells. When they came to mine, the boy suddenly stopped and stared at me with wide brown eyes, one of them purple and nearly swollen shut. Blood was smeared around his mouth and he was bruised all over his face. 

He was the first boy my age I had ever seen, not since before I was taken. I had seen men before, but old men who couldn’t do hard labor and were put with the women, or cruel guards. No men like this, tall with long hair and warm brown eyes. 

The girl ran into his back. She looked like she was in a lot better shape than the boy. “Steve, Steve, we need to go—”

“Chto? Kto ty? Kak ty popal v?” I demanded. What? Who are you? How did you get in?

“Look,” he said. “That’s a girl.” 

I could understand their words, but they sounded wrong, sounded old. I realized they were speaking English. 

“Amerikanstov!?” I said, incredulously. Americans?

“Shit, you’re right,” the girl said. “What do you want to do?”

“Stand back,” the boy said, not breaking eye contact with me, raising the gun.

My eyes widened and I put my hands up. He lowered the gun and waved his arm at me, sounding panicked. “Didn’t you hear me? I said stand back!” 

I backed as far away from the gun as I could and the boy fired, causing the lock to explode. He threw the door open, dove into the cell, and grabbed my hand, yanking me along. My heart was banging wildly in my ears. I couldn’t process anything that was happening. There was no way this was real—this had to be a dream. 

“I’m Steve. That’s Robin. You’re with us now,” he said. “Run!”

The three of us broke into a sprint and I tried to point them towards the exits, yelling at them in Russian. I couldn’t remember how to speak English, and I couldn’t think when I was running so fast I felt dizzy and like my lungs were about to burst. I wasn’t use to any sort of physical activity, only sitting in my cell waiting for an inevitable death, and before that, years and years of being bent over a sewing machine. 

“I think she wants us to go left,” Steve panted. 

“Do you trust her?” Robin said. 

Steve didn’t answer, he just dragged me left. Robin followed. We rounded another corner and ran into a maintenance worker, who started to reach for his radio. Steve didn’t even hesitate—he just pistol-whipped him and yelled at us to keep running. until we burst through the double-doors. To my surprise, we were in a parking lot. And not the parking lot of a military base—the parking lot of a shopping center. 

Steve and Robin dragged me around the corner of a building and we hid behind a pillar. 

“You need to get her out of here,” Steve said, grabbing me by the shoulders and shoving me towards Robin. “Take her to your car.” 

“Where am I going? I can’t just fucking leave you!”

“I don’t know, somewhere safe! Listen, you can come back and try to find me but I need to find Dustin and Erica and she cannot come with us. She doesn’t even have shoes.” He pointed at my bare feet. 

“But what if I lose you?”

“They had to have gotten out. They’ve gotta be at Scoops Ahoy. They have to be,” he said, frantic. “Just go!”

Robin grabbed my wrist and hauled me across the parking lot towards a car, muttering unintelligibly about how this was fucking crazy and everyone was going to die. 

When we reached the car, Robin shifted from foot to foot, gnawing on her lip anxiously. 

“Okay, well, I really don’t want to do this, but I’m kind of out of options,” she said. 

I wondered what she could possibly mean. Robin opened the passenger door and rummaged around inside the glovebox until she pulled out a roll of tape. She grabbed my wrists and taped them together in front of me. I didn’t resist—there was no way I could outrun Robin, especially barefoot. Besides, she didn’t seem like she wanted to hurt me, and it was either this or go back to prison where my days were numbered. And clearly, something very bad was happening inside. 

“You wanna prove you won’t sell us out to the commies?” she said, sounding bitter, but also like she was half-joking. She popped the trunk. “Get in.”

I did as I was told. Robin stood over me and started to tape my legs and mouth. 

“Comfortable? Okay. If any of us survive, we will come get you. If not, well, you’ll probably be toast soon enough anyway.”

She slammed the trunk down and everything went dark. I heard the key scrape in the lock.

It was a bit stuffy in the trunk, and a little warm, but I could breathe okay. And I had been so cold for so long, I didn’t really mind too much. It was nice to feel warm for once. My eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness, and I could sort of see my surroundings, but there wasn’t much to see. There was something big, hard, and round pressing into my back. A tire. I squirmed a bit. It was all black carpeting and rubber inside. There were some stray articles of clothing and books, but that was it. 

After about an hour or two, I guessed, I started hearing noises. A lot of smashing, tires squealing, and a great deal of explosions. And something horrible screaming—something big. Something I had never heard before. Some sort of monster. My heart beat harder and harder and my mouth grew dry, flinching and whimpering at each explosion and whenever the monster screamed. At any moment, I expected something to smash the car, or the car to blow up, or something else to happen. But nothing did. Eventually, the screaming stopped. And then I heard helicopters, sirens, men shouting and running. More war sounds. 

Everything gradually got quieter and quieter after the storm of helicopters. I could still hear cars and sirens, but things were steadily fading. The complete and utter terror started to ebb away and I felt my muscles slowly relax slightly. My legs and jaw ached from the tension. However, as more and more time passed, my stomach started to sink and a hum of anxiety started to fill me. What if the Americans had died? What if I was going to slowly succumb to dehydration and hunger in the back of the car? How hot would the trunk get tomorrow? Would I suffocate eventually, or die of heatstroke? I tried to keep breathing and remain calm. I was sure I could get my wrists untaped if I chewed hard enough. I reminded myself that it probably felt far longer than it had been. 

In spite of my anxiety, I had been slipping in and out of a fitful, anxious doze for a few hours when I heard angry voices approaching the car, and my heart surged. I tried not to get my hopes up—it could be more soldiers. But then I heard the sound of a key scraping in a lock and the trunk popped. It was light outside—dawn had broken. 

Day 1:

I squinted, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the four figures standing over me. 

Steve and Robin were back, with another boy and another girl about the same age. I wondered if the second pair was Dustin and Erica. All four of them looked very beaten up and dirty—Steve and Robin looked even worse than earlier. No one looked very happy—I wondered if they were going to kill me now. 

“You locked her in the trunk?” the second girl demanded.

“I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do!” Robin said. 

The second boy roughly grabbed my wrists and pulled out a pocketknife, slicing through the tape. He did my legs next, and then ripped off the tape on my mouth. 

“I’m Jonathan, and this is Nancy,” he said, pointing to the second girl. 

I stared at them. 

Steve scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, when I said she was a Russian prisoner, I meant, uh, that she’s literally Russian.”

“So she doesn’t speak English?” Jonathan said.

Steve shrugged, then looked at me. 

“Can… you…speak… English…?” he said slowly.

I nodded and made a frustrated sound, but nothing intelligible came out. I couldn’t remember how to say the words. 

I shifted into a sitting position and Steve took my hand and pulled me out of the trunk. I felt a little dizzy and backed against the car to steady myself. 

“What are we going to do with her?” Jonathan said. His arms were folded across his chest and his eyes looked dark. He took a step towards Steve. “We can’t tell your mom, we can’t tell Robin’s mom, we can’t tell Nancy’s mom, Hopper is fucking dead, and my mom has enough on her fucking plate right now, Harrington. She cannot deal with this, too.”

“Dude, seriously, I couldn’t just leave a teenage girl in a Russian prison cell!” Steve snapped. 

“What if she’s dangerous?” Jonathan said. Jonathan made me feel afraid. He didn’t seem to be on board with the fact that Steve and Robin rescued me. The group didn’t seem to have a clear leader, but Jonathan definitely seemed to hold some sway. I wondered if he was going to suggest they kill me, and if so, would the others go along with it?

“She doesn’t look dangerous,” Nancy offered hesitantly. She gritted her teeth and sighed, her bangs flying up in the air. “And I hate to say it, but Steve has a point. It would have been wrong to leave her there.”

Steve held up his hands. “Look,” he said. “I know this is kind of a mess. But my parents are out of town again. We can go to my place and regroup and figure this out.”

“This will be easier if we clear our heads,” Robin said. “Get something to eat, clean up, do some first aid. Then we can come up with a plan.”

“Alright, fine,” Jonathan said. 

Robin smiled. “All aboard,” she said. Everyone piled into the car—Robin and Steve up front, and me, Nancy, and Jonathan in the back. The clock on Robin’s dash read 5:34 AM. 

I couldn’t help but stare out the window, a little slack-jawed. Everything was so big, and so colorful. I hadn’t seen a space this big since… Before. Everything was so green and nice. There were shops, and houses, and gardens. 

Robin pulled into a parking lot and rolled down her window, sticking her head out and greeting a middle-aged employee. 

“You kids look like hell!” she said. 

Robin forced a smile. There was some bickering and shuffling and exchanging of money between the other four, but I wasn’t paying attention. Faintly, I was aware of Steve saying, “I’ll pay for the girl, don’t worry about it,” but mostly, I was transfixed by the big sign reading “Molly’s Drive-In,” in pretty pink and blue neon letters, with a big neon burger, too. 

Suddenly, the smell of food hit me, snapping me out of my daze. I started to salivate almost immediately, wiping my mouth with the back of my tattered sleeve. Robin distributed greasy paper bags and cold plastic cups to everyone, including me. 

The food was the best thing I had ever tasted. I had forgotten what real food was like. I tried to slow down and taste it all as best I could—the salt, the grease, real meat, crunchy real fresh vegetables, good bread. The drink was almost too much, sweeter than anything I had ever tasted. And it burned a little drinking it, too. Even though I forced myself to eat as slowly as I could, everything was gone in minutes. I was tempted to eat the paper, too, but I restrained myself. I knew that would probably attract unwanted attention. Everyone was talking, but I was so totally consumed by the food I wasn’t listening to anything happening around me—it took too much concentration to understand English, and I wanted to really taste this. 

That is, until Steve tapped his fingers on my knee. “Hey,” he said, handing me another cold cup. “You want a milkshake?”

I thought the first drink was too much, but this was even more. It was colder, creamier, and even sweeter. Ice cream. It tasted like chocolate. I decided right then and there that Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin were the best allies I was ever going to get. I didn’t even care if they handed me over to the American government or shot me in the head later—this was a better fate than I could have ever hoped for. I had nearly forgotten about ice cream. 

Halfway through sipping my milkshake, my ravenous hunger subsided and a groggy fullness slipped over me. I started to get a nasty headache too, and I felt a bit sick when Robin went around corners. I had eaten far too quickly, and the food was richer than anything I was used to. I concentrated on not vomiting. I doubted vomiting in Robin’s car would make anyone more sympathetic towards me. Despite my extreme nausea and the headache, I couldn’t stop sipping on the milkshake. Robin pulled into a driveway, and I nearly threw up as the car went over the curb. 

The group gathered into the kitchen, around the table, but no one sat down. People were talking, but I wasn’t paying attention, enthralled with the inside of Steve’s house. Steve’s house was nicer than my own house had been, back before, when I lived in one. Bigger and cleaner, with everything inside feeling a little expensive. I even caught a glimmer of a swimming pool in the backyard. 

Robin took my wrist and pulled me into an upstairs bathroom, pointing at the shower. I undressed and got in. There was hot water. This felt like a dream. I spent probably too long in the shower, just smelling the different bottles before choosing which ones to use. They smelled masculine—this must be Steve’s bathroom. I cleaned myself three times before stepping out and toweling off. There were clothes set out on the counter—a big t-shirt and even bigger pants. They had a drawstring, but I struggled to keep them up even with it pulled tight. 

I poked around in the drawers, seeing a lot of various women’s hair products, and found a comb. I brushed out my hair. I peered in the mirror. My hair was barely there, short like a boy’s, not long like Nancy’s. Shorter than Steve’s, even. About as long as Jonathan’s. They used to shave my head every few months so it wouldn’t get caught in the sewing machines. Towards the end, after I got transferred, they stopped caring entirely and it grew a little more. 

I walked downstairs, hearing heated voices in the kitchen. When I came back, I saw that Robin had gone to shower, too. Everyone was sitting around the table, not saying anything. An ugly tension hung over the room. First aid supplies were out on the table, but neither Nancy, Jonathan, or Steve had touched it. 

Nancy rose to her feet when I entered in the room. 

“I’m going to shower,” Steve said, standing up. Jonathan rolled his eyes. Steve looked at me and his tone softened. “Nancy’s gonna take a look at you, okay? Make sure you’re all in one piece.” 

Nancy pulled me into a room off to the side and pulled off my shirt. I was slightly taken aback by the fact that she didn’t say anything, but I was used to being stripped regularly. And she didn’t think I could understand English, so I guess she didn’t see the point in saying anything first. 

“Are you hurt?” she said, checking me over and wincing at all of the bruises and scarring. She checked my legs, too. But there was nothing bleeding, and nothing Nancy could do with her first aid kit, so she took me back into the kitchen. Robin was there when I got back, cleaning and patching up some of her cuts and burns. 

“She’s fine,” Nancy said. “She’s pretty beat up, but nothing fresh.” She was quiet for a moment, than said, “Um, Jonathan, do you think this is a good plan?”

Jonathan seemed so stressed he was about to snap in two. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Nancy, where else is she going to go? My mom, she really, really can’t deal with this right now. I shouldn’t even be here. I need to go home to her. Like, now.”

“Jonathan…”

“What? Do you want to try to explain this to your mom?”

“No, it’s just, I don’t think Steve is responsible enough to handle this.”

Robin’s head snapped up. “Don’t say that,” she said angrily.

“Where is she going to stay, Robin? In his closet? He lives with his parents.”

“What are we talking about?” Steve said defensively, suddenly walking into the kitchen. His hair was wet and he was wearing pajama bottoms like mine and a sweatshirt. 

“Steve, I just don’t know if her staying with you would be best. I really think maybe we should just take her to the police,” Nancy said. 

“That’s a terrible idea, Nancy,” Steve said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do either, but we are going to figure something out. And we are not going to go to the cops.”

“That is a pretty bad idea,” Jonathan mumbled reluctantly. “We have to remember the police…” his voice caught in his throat, and he cleared it. “’The police’ doesn’t mean Hopper anymore. It means people who could find about El.” 

“What about Hopper’s cabin?” Steve asked. “I mean, now that El is staying with your mom…”

Anger flared on Jonathan’s face. “You are so fucking insensitive.”

“This is an emergency,” Steve said, irritated. “My parents are back tomorrow.” 

“Hopper’s cabin is completely destroyed, Steve. And Jonathan, if you don’t think we should go to the police, maybe tomorrow we should tell Mrs. Byers!” Nancy said. 

“No!” Jonathan said. “I agree that we need to tell my mom,” Jonathan finally said. He held out his hands as if to steady the group, but his jaw was pulsing with anger. The veins in his forehead were bulging. “Just not right now, and not for a few months at least. Maybe longer.”

“Come on, Jonathan. She’s going to need to learn English, and we’re eventually going to have to get her fake papers, and she’s going to have so much trauma to work through! Can you really think we can handle this on our own? I mean, Steve couldn’t even—”

Steve stared bitterly at Nancy, his nostrils flaring. He clenched his jaw. 

“Don’t say he couldn’t get into Tech,” Robin said derisively. 

“I tried to help him get into Tech!” Nancy said, throwing her hands into the air. 

“What is your fucking problem, Nancy?” Steve snapped.

“I don’t want anything to do with you anymore, Steve,” Nancy said. “But you just had to show up and make this our problem, too!” 

“Are you jealous of her or something?” Steve said. 

Jonathan started, banging his fist on the table, and Steve took a step forward, but then Robin stood up. “We are NOT doing this right now!” she shouted. 

This was getting out of hand. My heart was starting to beat faster and faster. I felt like I needed to say something, but I couldn’t get my mouth around the words. I really didn’t want to go to the police, and I didn’t particularly want to go with Jonathan, either. I started to shift from foot to foot.

“Steve!” I suddenly blurted out.

Everyone turned to stare at me incredulously. A long silence fell over the room. 

“Steve,” I repeated, a little calmer and more firmly. 

“Well, there you have it,” Steve said, pulling out a kitchen chair and collapsing into it, more than a little smug. 

“I thought she couldn’t speak English,” Jonathan said slowly. 

“Does this mean she can understand everything we’re saying?” Nancy asked. “Can you understand me?”

I nodded. 

“El can’t really talk, either, I mean not well,” Jonathan said. “She’s better now. But she used to barely be able to say anything at all. But she could understand you. Maybe this is like that. And maybe she can learn English. El started talking pretty quick.” 

“You mentioned Hopper’s cabin,” Robin said. “My parents have a cabin in the woods, too. They inherited it from my great aunt and they’ve never used it. They hate camping.”

“So it’s settled, then,” Jonathan said. “Let’s go, Nancy.”

Nancy let out another impatient sigh, as if she wasn’t very happy with this outcome. They stood up and left without another word. 

“God, what’s their fucking problem?” Robin muttered. She turned to Steve. “Want me to patch you up?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, touching his swollen eye. “Give me a minute.”

Steve motioned for me to follow him and he led me into the living room. He pulled all the shades closed so it was sort of dark in the room and handed me a blanket. 

“You can sleep on the couch. We’ll figure out everything after we get some rest,” he said, putting his hands on my shoulders. “I promise. Sweet dreams, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “Sweet dreams?” 

Steve smiled at me encouragingly, then left. I could hear Steve and Robin’s muffled voices from the kitchen—they were just laughing and chatting at first, with Steve crying out softly in pain every few moments as Robin cleaned his cuts. I faded into sleep almost immediately, exhausted from the ordeal and feeling groggy from the burgers and shake, and enjoying the softness of Steve’s couch and the warm blanket. The sun was starting to shine through Steve’s curtains, feeling warm on my face. I buried my head into the pillow and dozed off.

I woke up to the sounds of Steve and Robin. I felt disoriented and confused rather than completely rested. It was still light outside, so it had only been a few hours. I rubbed my eyes and squinted at the clock above Steve’s TV. 12:04PM. I wandered into the kitchen. 

Steve and Robin were both messy-haired and yawning. Steve’s face looked truly awful; the severity of the bruises were much clearer in the daylight. I figured he had probably been beaten. He was leaning against the counter and sipping coffee out of a mug, while Robin was slumped at the table. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he said. He poured me a cup of coffee, added milk, and handed it to me. 

“Do you want some breakfast?” 

I nodded. 

“God, she looks hungry,” Robin said. 

Steve pulled a loaf of bread and peanut butter from the cabinet and made a sandwich, handing it to me. I wolfed it down. Robin and Steve watched me intently. 

“Well, do you want another?” Steve said. I looked up at him and nodded. 

I ate three sandwiches. Steve and Robin stared at me the entire time. I was aware of them staring at me, but I didn’t really care. It was so nice to finally eat, and eat properly. My stomach had never felt this full. 

“My parents are coming home this afternoon. I was going to tell them I’m at Tommy’s, but then I realized they’re eventually going to see, well, y’know,” he said, gesturing at his battered face. 

“Tell them you and Jonathan Byers got in another fight over Nancy Wheeler. Or maybe that it was Billy Hargrove again. Oh, or perhaps an angry customer at Scoops Ahoy,” Robin said. “You do lose a lot of fights, so it should be pretty convincing.”

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Speaking of moms, mine is so going to kill me for not coming home after the ‘fire’,” Robin said, standing up from the table. “I’ll see you guys in a few days when she’s less mad.” 

“Just tell her you were having a steamy sleepover with Tammy Thompson.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Robin laughed as she left. 

Steve stood up and put my dishes in the sink, telling me he was going to go pack some stuff for tonight. I followed him upstairs and sat on his unmade bed, watching him haphazardly shove clothes and his toothbrush into a duffel bag. I glanced around Steve’s bedroom. It was pretty plain—a desk, a bed, a closet, clothes all over the floor, school pennants and sports trophies on the wall. 

Steve and I went downstairs and out to his car. He threw his duffel bag into the backseat then slid in the front seat. He was quiet for the drive, brow furrowed in concentration until we got to a grocery store. He told me I had to wait in the car. I didn’t mind—Steve wasn’t long. 

“Okay,” he finally said as we pulled out of the parking lot. “I have a plan. I am going to take you to the cabin. You are going to stay there. I am going to tell my parents that I got in another fight, they are going to get angry with me, and then I am going to escalate things until they kick me out of the house.”

“Okay,” I said. 

“They definitely wouldn’t be happy with me just waltzing away out of the blue. But if it was their idea? Oh totally. More than happy to be rid of me,” Steve said. 

“The cabin doesn’t have to be forever,” Steve added. “But it’s best for now. Because it’s kind of remote, and we don’t want anyone finding you. And then maybe, once some time has gone by and if you ever start talking, you could get a job with me and Robin and say you just moved from somewhere and nobody would know any different.” 

Steve talked a lot, but I didn’t mind. I thought listening to him might help me figure out how to talk again. I didn’t know why El needed to be kept in a cabin, or who Robin’s aunt was, or who killed her. And I couldn’t ask him. I wished I could. I just stared at him blankly. 

“’Course, we’d need to smooth out a lot of the details, but I figure it’s a pretty solid plan for now. So, yeah. You’re going to be safe here.”

“Okay,” I said. 

Steve reached for the radio dial and twisted it back and forth until he found a clear signal, nodding along to the music and tapping his hands on the steering wheel. I stared out the window at all of the trees, trying not to breathe too deeply. There were so many of them, and the leaves seemed so crisp. I had not seen this much green in years and years. 

“So, what’s your name?” he said. “I can’t keep just saying ‘hey you.’” 

I stared at him. My number was 873148, but I did not think that is what Steve wanted. I knew what he wanted, but I didn’t want to think about it. It was in the dark part of my brain, the part of my brain I could feel curling up and squirming as I tasted things like burgers and ice cream again and slept in a real bed. 

Steve pointed at himself. “Steve,” he said. Then he pointed at me and raised his eyebrows. 

“Восемь семь три один четыре восемь,” I said, frustrated. 873148.

“Um, that’s kind of a mouthful,” Steve said. “Do you have a nickname or something?”

“Восемь семь три один четыре восемь,” I repeated. 873148.

“Okay, um, I don’t speak Russian, but something tells me that isn’t a name.” 

I sighed. Steve didn’t say anything. 

In fact, for the the rest of the drive, Steve was mostly quiet. The cabin wasn’t too far from town—maybe just under half an hour or so. The area, however, was pretty deserted, mostly covered in trees and woods. Steve finally pulled up in front of a tiny, battered wooden house and we started to bring in the groceries. The porch of the cabin was rickety, with a rocking chair and a swing that looked almost dangerous on it, and the screen door had torn. 

“Huh,” Steve said, looking around at the very musty, slightly dilapidated surroundings. “This really isn’t as bad as I expected. I mean, it needs a lot of work. But nothing we can’t handle, right?”

“Right,” I repeated, smelling the mildew in the air. 

“I hate to do this to you, but I need to head back now, because my parents are home already. And I’m worried they’ll report me missing, because of what happened to the mall, and because my mom is like, a total basket case these days, and the cops will find us here, and then we’ll have issues.”

“Okay,” I said. 

“You can pick out your room if you want. I’ll be back later tonight. It won’t take me long to pull this stunt, I promise. My dad has been waiting for this ever since I didn’t get into college and got benched last season.” 

“Promise?” I repeated. 

“Promise,” he said. I listened to the sounds of him walking outside, onto the porch, and his car starting and pulling away. 

I sat down on the couch and buried my face in my hands for a moment. None of this felt real yet, like any moment I would wake up and be back in my cell. I felt more numb and anxious than excited—I couldn’t believe any of this was real. Right now, days, weeks, maybe even months stretched in front of me where I was promised food, clothes, hot water, and a warm bed. And Steve, as soon as he came back. I didn’t let myself even think the h-word yet, the word above the fireplace. A house. That was all this was for now. And right now, all I could think about was the fact that I was alone. 

It hadn’t occurred to me until now that being by myself in the cabin would bother me, but I had never been truly alone before. I was always with my parents, until it happened, and then I was constantly being monitored by guards and hearing the wails and screams of other prisoners. Lonely, but not alone. 

I took a deep breath and surveyed my surroundings. The cabin held faded dark green plush carpeting and a battered orange couch with a pile of quilts, and a matching recliner with a small black-and-white knitted dog on it. The house had clearly belonged to an older woman. There was a big box TV with an antenna on a stand in front of the couch, with angel figurines on top of it. There was a fireplace on the wall, too, with a mantel full of more figurines and a framed piece of lace that read “HOME.” A pile of wood and an axe sat in the corner. The walls were covered in pale yellow wallpaper. I saw a bookshelf loaded with faded paperbacks. 

I put away the groceries—coffee, bread, milk, crunchy peanut butter, grape jelly, eggs, brightly-colored cereal, boxes of mac and cheese. The kitchen was small, containing a brown refrigerator with a burned-out light, a stove, a dirty sink, and a slightly rusty toaster. The cupboards were full of dishes, white with little green flowers, and a blue kettle sat on the stove. The towels were all hand-knit, just like the toy dog in the living room probably was, too. A phone, blue like the teakettle with a curly cord, hung on the wall. 

Then, I wandered down the hall and opened a doors—a bathroom, two bedrooms, a little closet with a washing machine and a dryer. The bedrooms were pretty much the same, with a big bed, a dresser, a little closet, and a nightstand with an alarm clock and lamp. They had pictures on the walls, paintings of lighthouses and forests. One of the rooms had flowered wallpaper, which I liked. So I wandered inside that one. The bedding looked old, and kind of musty. The bed was looking rather tempting, as I hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before, but I made myself resist. I could sleep tonight. The drawers were mostly empty, except for some stray sweaters. Everything reeked of mothballs. I found a loose nail in one of the drawers and looked at it. I remembered my cell in Russia, with 3,452 little lines scratched into the wall. There had been 3,378 in my first cell, in Russia, and then I was moved to the prison in the mall. I repeated all the little tallies again, because I didn’t want to lose track of the days, and then I started a new column to mark the time before I was killed. There had been 74 tallies before Steve and Robin came. I rolled the nail between my fingers and stood up, scratching the first tally into the wall. One day with Steve. 

I walked back into the living room and alternated between sitting on the couch, touching the books, and pacing nervously until Steve came home. I turned on the TV a few times to practice English, but I couldn’t focus. The thought that I was free and safe—well, presumably—made me feel giddy. Even though I trusted Steve, and Robin, and Nancy, and Jonathan, bad possibilities loomed in my mind. I assumed they were the good guys—nobody had given me a reason to suspect otherwise. Not even Jonathan and Nancy, as angry as they seemed. But I had no idea what happened that night at the mall. Nobody had bothered to explain things to me, and the sounds of screaming and explosions kept looming in my mind. Nothing about the situation made any sense whatsoever—not the sounds, not Steve and Robin’s outfits that night, not the fact that my prison was in a shopping mall, and certainly not the fact that a group of American teenagers seemed to be fighting in some sort of war. 

Eventually, around five o’clock, I heard Steve’s car pull up outside. I went out on the porch to help him carry in boxes of his things, and more groceries. He looked pissed off, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark, and he slammed the car doors and jerked the bags and boxes around violently. 

“Steve?” I asked, a little afraid. 

“It went fine. Everything’s okay. My dad is just such a fucking dick,” he yanked a box out of the trunk rather aggressively, then took a deep breath. “But hey, I never have to talk to him again at least.” 

I also couldn’t help but notice there was a baseball bat with nails hammered through it in the trunk. He noticed me eyeing it apprehensively.

“That’s for self-defense. You know, just in case,” he said. I didn’t know what we should be worried about, so I just shuddered.

Once we finished carrying things in, Steve said, “I’m thinking I can vacuum and do the bathroom, and you can do the kitchen and wipe everything down with a rag or something? And then maybe wash the sheets and blankets and stuff. And maybe we can wash the windows. But I’m going to open them for now to air this place out. I feel like that’s a pretty good start.”

I nodded and got to work, putting away even more groceries. There were lots of cleaning products, and more food. Steve didn’t seem like much of a cook—most of what he bought was frozen, in a jar, or in a box. There were also lots of snacks, like chips and sugary cereals. I noticed Steve had gotten things for me, too, like a toothbrush, and toothpaste, and shampoo. 

When I finished putting everything away, I started cleaning and watched Steve out of the corner of my eye. He whistled, hummed, and muttered to himself on and off as he cleaned. He banged on the air conditioning on the window a couple times, poking around inside with a screwdriver and swearing. Steve talked to himself a lot— I think my silence bothered him. I also think that the cabin’s décor bothered him. He removed all the angel figurines from around the TV, putting them in a box, and replaced the ones above the fireplace with his baseball bat. But he left the lace up, which I liked. He even spared the knitted dog. Steve set up a stereo system in the living room, next to a haphazard box of tapes, and also put up posters for rock bands and a movie called Risky Business. 

“I brought all my old basketball trophies from high school, ‘cause I just took all the shit from my room,” he said. “But it just seems so stupid now, you know? I honestly just want to throw them out. Anyway, I think that pretty much does it,” Steve said when we finished, looking around and surveying our handiwork. The place looked cleaner, and brighter, and smelled better when we were done. Steve’s mood had also improved. 

“We did awesome,” he said. Steve held out his hand.

I stared at it blankly, then took it awkwardly, like he had grabbed mine when he rescued me.

“No, no, no, it’s a high five,” he said. “You hit it.” 

I stared at him blankly. He demonstrated on my hand, and I repeated the action, feeling rather embarrassed. 

“See? You’re learning. Want a sandwich?” he said, walking into the kitchen and pulling things out of the fridge. “I’m fucking starving. I haven’t eaten anything all day. And you really like peanut butter.” 

I was eating so well. I watched Steve make the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, then he took his sandwich into the living room, flopped on the recliner and turned on the TV. I sat on the couch and ate my sandwich, watching Steve. 

“God, we get like, fucking nothing out here,” he said, biting into his sandwich. “Robin said her friend Keith would let us work at Family Video. Because she’s friends with all the nerds. I mean, she is one. But she’s cool,” he said, flipping through slightly staticky channels before giving up and shutting it off. 

Steve went on about nothing until he finished his sandwich, and then he told me he was going to bed. 

“Night,” he said. 

“Goodnight, Steve,” I said. I went to my room and made another tally. 

Day 2:

When I woke up, I put Steve’s clothes back on. Steve had given me more clothes, t-shirts and pajama pants, but it was almost impossible to keep the bottoms on. They slid right off my hips. I removed them without really thinking about it. I was used to missing uniform pieces at times, when they weren’t issued or had become too torn to wear, or I outgrew them. Besides, it was very hot in the cabin. I emerged from my room slowly. 

“Morning,” Steve said without turning around. 

“Morning,” I said. 

He was cooking food on the stove. Eggs. Bread. Coffee. Nice bread, not the kind of bread I was used to. I remembered the smells from when I was very small. Dad ate coffee and eggs. I hovered behind Steve uncertainly. I wanted to help, but I didn’t want to get in his way. 

Steve turned around and handed me a plate and a mug. He looked me up and down and raised his eyebrows at my bare legs. 

“I really need to stop at the Salvation Army,” he said before adding, “Eat.”

I sat at the table and did as I was told. Steve joined me a few moments later with his own pile of eggs. 

“I’m gonna go apply at the video store with Robin. I’ll be back later tonight, I promise.”

I nodded. 

“Make sure you eat while I’m gone, too,” he said. “There’s more eggs, there’s stuff for sandwiches, there’s mac and cheese, and there’s cereal,” he said. The mac and cheese and eggs sounded a little too ambitious right now, so I figured I would stick with cereal and sandwiches. “And, uh, this goes without saying but don’t go anywhere.” 

With Steve gone again, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was used to sitting and doing nothing except worrying, but this was different. I had options. I felt like I should use them. I started with cleaning the kitchen and washed the blankets on the couch. We hadn’t gotten to them during our cleaning spree, and they smelled funny. I washed the clothes Steve had given me, too. Then, I explored the living room. I ran my hands across the paperbacks on the shelf. If I thought very hard, I could make out the titles. I picked out one and took it back to my room, tucking it under my pillow so I could practice reading again before bed. Then I eyed the TV. The TV was definitely my best bet at learning to speak again. 

I could probably ask Steve for help, but I felt too shy. It frustrated me that I had forgotten how to speak. It never occurred to me that this would happen. I just never had anyone to speak English to after it happened, and so much time had passed. My lips stopped working, the connection between my brain and my mouth rusting away like the chain on a bike left in the rain. But I was determined to learn to speak again. I went to the kitchen, made a sandwich just like I saw Steve do it, and then sat down in front of the TV, turning on the news. 

After Steve came home from work, I felt a bit awkward. I hovered around him for a bit after dinner, while he watched sports, but I didn’t want to bother him, so I retreated to my room to read. After about an hour, there came a sharp knock at my door. I opened it. 

“Hey,” Steve said, leaning against the doorframe and looking down at me. “Come hang out with me.”

I stared at him. 

“C’mon,” he said. “I’m totally bored. I found some games in a cupboard.” 

I followed him into the living room. Steve motioned for me to sit on the floor. A pile of board games and cards sat on the coffee table. Steve put a tape in the stereo, grabbed a deck of cards and started shuffling them. 

“Let’s start with an easy one. You know how to play go fish?” he asked. 

I shook my head. Steve started dealing cards and explaining rules to me, and I tried my best to listen. It wasn’t hard to follow along. Steve was so confident and playful; time passed quickly with him. Steve taught me a few different games, like gin rummy and crazy eights, and I felt like he was letting me win most of them. He tried to coax me into talking, too, peppering me with lighthearted questions about my favorite color and if I liked sports and what kind of cereal I wanted to get. I wasn’t able to answer any of them, just looking at him and shrugging. 

“Did you eat while I was gone?” he asked. 

I looked at him, alarmed. I nodded slowly, wondering if he would get mad at me. His tone was still light, but the concept of being able to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, was completely foreign to me. I had never had this sort of freedom. There was never enough food in prison, and sometimes I went days without a meal. I worked in the kitchens sometimes, and anyone caught stealing food would be shot. Even as a child, before I was taken, there was always a parent or caretaker doling out portions for me. Breakfast and dinner felt okay, when Steve handed me a plate and was wolfing down food across from me and ordering me to eat. But cooking my own food and eating while Steve was gone felt wrong. 

“What’d you eat? You have to answer this one, I’m not letting you off the hook.” 

“Sandwich,” I said. “Two.” 

“Good,” Steve said. I relaxed—he wasn’t angry at me. “Eating is really important, okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

Steve stood up and stretched. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight, but we can play more tomorrow” he gestured at the pile of games. “Not like there’s much else to do out here.” 

If I concentrated on the games, I could make out titles like Candyland, Battleship, Monopoly, and Scrabble. Steve looked at me for a moment, then awkwardly ruffled my scruff of hair. I only flinched a little. 

“Goodnight,” he said. “Sweet dreams.” 

“Goodnight, Steve,” I said, smiling at him. “Sweet dreams.” 

Day 3:

Steve left the next morning, too. He grumbled about how Keith was making him work in the back, because of his face. He put the numbers for Robin’s house and Family Video on the fridge, telling me I could call them, but only in an emergency. He reminded me to eat, and reminded me to stay put. 

I sat on the floor listening to some of Steve’s tapes when a loud, insistent rapping came at the front door. I wasn’t sure if I should open the front door for anyone or not. My heart pounded in my ears and my stomach started to squirm. I grabbed the baseball bat from the mantle. 

Carefully, I peered through the curtain. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was Nancy and Jonathan, and dropped the bat. Nancy was holding a big, black plastic bag. I walked over to the front door and unlocked it. 

“Hi,” Nancy said. 

“Hello, Nancy and Jonathan,” I said, painfully aware that those words were probably almost half of my usable vocabulary at the moment. 

“Where’s Steve?”

“Back later,” I said. 

“He left you here alone?” she said. She sounded upset.

“Yes,” I said. 

“Nance, it’s not a big deal. I’m sure he just has work,” Jonathan said. 

Nancy let out a short, sharp sigh. “Well, let him know we stopped by. And I brought you clothes.” she said, offering the bag. She looked at my bare legs pointedly. “Since you clearly don’t have any.”

“Thank you,” I said. 

Nancy pushed past me into the cabin and strode into the kitchen, rummaging through drawers. 

“I’m sorry if I seemed… intense the other day,” Jonathan said. “It’s not personal. My mom, she’s just going through a lot right now. We all are.”

“It’s okay,” I said, watching Nancy out of the corner of my eye. She was scribbling on a piece of paper. 

“Um, do you have a name?” Jonathan said. 

I shook my head. 

“Right,” Jonathan said, looking at me skeptically. 

“Call us if you need anything, okay?” Nancy said, handing me a piece of paper with their phone numbers on it. Jonathan smiled at me. 

I watched Nancy and Jonathan leave. Nancy and Jonathan still seemed stressed, but they seemed a lot cleaner and nicer now that some time had passed, like they didn’t want to get rid of me anymore. I also wondered if Steve not being there helped. It made sense why they hated Steve now—if Jonathan was Nancy’s boyfriend, and Jonathan had beat Steve up over it, they probably had quite the past. 

I put the phone numbers on the fridge, next to the numbers for Robin’s house and Family Video. Then I dragged the big, black bag to my room and began to put away the clothes in the closet and in the empty dresser drawers alongside the t-shirts Steve had given to me, and practiced the words I needed to tell Steve what happened later. I put on some of Nancy’s clothes, too. Jeans and a blouse and white socks. They fit much better than Steve’s. 

Day 5: 

Steve came back from Family Video with a shotgun and a revolver. He put the shotgun in the living room, next to his baseball bat and the axe, and put the revolver in his bedroom. I could tell he was worried. But absolutely nothing had happened at the cabin yet. Each day so far was breakfast with Steve, practice learning English and eat a sandwich while Steve is at work, eat dinner with Steve, maybe TV or games with Steve, practice English, make a tally, then bed. Rinse and repeat. Then, when I was in my room, when Steve thought I was sleeping but I was trying to read, I could hear him talking on the phone. Probably to Nancy and Jonathan and Robin. He whispered, but sometimes he got loud, and I could hear that he was talking about me. Stuff about me getting healthier, me needing fake documents, me not saying my name, something about not telling the kids. I also heard him go outside sometimes, pacing around on the creaky porch. 

“Come on,” he said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “I wanna teach you how to shoot this. You know, just in case something happens while I’m gone.”

I wonder what he thought was going to happen, but I followed him outside. The way Steve acted really worried me. I didn’t think the Russians were looking for me, even though Steve seemed to think they were, but Steve was probably worried about other things, too. Like whatever I heard screaming while I was locked in Robin’s trunk. 

Steve handed me the gun and I stared at him helplessly. He took it from me and fired it into the woods. 

“Like that. It’s easy,” he said. 

I fumbled with the gun for a minute before Steve came up behind me and put his hands on mine. I immediately jerked away, shocked by the contact. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said. “Chill out.” 

Steve stepped up behind me again and guided me through the motions. It was closer to another person than I had been in years and years. I felt shaky at his touch; it was firm and solid and warm. But I didn’t have time to think too much about it. Steve made me try on my own, and once I fired successfully, he made me try again and again until I managed to hit a tree on a fairly consistent basis. 

“Great job!” Steve said, nodding with approval and holding out his hand for a high-five. I smiled back at him, and returned the high-five, but my stomach was squirming. I really hoped that I never needed to fire the shotgun.

I went back inside. I hated guns. Steve stayed outside to do some target practice. I didn’t like laying in bed, trying to read my book while I heard gunshots outside. It reminded me too much of prison.

Day 6:

I started having bad dreams. I don’t really remember them—but I wake up upset and frightened, all sweaty with my heart pounding. I think they have started now because I am now certain this is not a dream. Back in prison, I used to dream of home, and food, and being warm, and other nice things. For the last few days, I realized how tired I was, and I slept so deeply that I did not dream at all. But now, I have started to feel more secure in Robin’s dead aunt’s cabin with Steve. Relaxed, even. Now that bad things are over during the day time, and day is when I’m safe, the bad memories are coming at night.

I don’t want to bother Steve, so I don’t wake him up. I just go back to sleep and make a mental note to practice the words I need. If I ever feel brave enough to tell him.

Day 7:

“Hey,” Steve said as we sat on the couch watching TV together. “Are you gonna tell me your name yet?”

I shook my head. I felt like I might be ready to, someday, but that was before the nightmares started. I have had them every night, and they push my name deeper and deeper into the dark parts of my brain. I mostly dream of the first few weeks when I was taken, when the men first came and hurt me because they didn’t believe I knew where my parents were. I dream of prison in general, too, but after those first few weeks it all became a blur of the same, over and over. I dream of the last few weeks below Starcourt Mall, where I had nothing to do but sit and dread. I also dream of the screams and gunshots I heard in the parking lot of Starcourt Mall. I even dream of Steve and Robin and Jonathan and Nancy, that they’re going to find out something bad about me and kill me or take me back to prison. 

“We’re on the same team,” Steve said, breaking my train of thought. “You can trust me.” 

“Can’t,” I said, shaking my head. 

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Steve said. He looked puzzled, and also a little heartbroken. “You don’t… You don’t trust me?”

“No,” I said. “Can’t say. Hurts.” 

“It’s okay. Take your time.” Steve said, rubbing my forearm. 

His face was starting to look better. The cuts were healing, and the swelling had gone down in his eye, the bruising changing from purple to blue. Steve and I ran into each other on the way to and from the shower a few times now, wrapped in towels. I wasn’t too self-conscious of my body, but Steve seemed extremely embarrassed each time it happened, stammering and darting off. I tried not to stare because it bothered Steve, but I couldn’t help but notice that bruises blossomed across his body, too, the worst of them on his chest and stomach. I wondered what had happened to him. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t feel confident in my words yet, and I didn’t think Steve wanted to talk about it. 

Day 9: 

One day, after a nap, I emerged from my bedroom to see Steve came home early. He was finishing up making spaghetti. I felt like I was ready to try some of my English on Steve—I could say them over and over without messing up. 

“What’s up?” he said. 

“Hello, Steve,” I said, slowly and carefully. “How was work? Did you see Robin?”

“Did you just say all that?” Steve said, looking at me incredulously. 

“I’ve been practicing. While you’re at Family Video.” 

Steve suddenly threw himself at me, pulling me into his arms. I stiffened, trying to shove Steve off of me as my heart throbbed in my ears. Steve pulled back, but kept his hands around my arms. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you…” he trailed off. “That was just a lot. You said a lot.” 

“It’s okay,” I said. 

“Even though you’re learning English,” Steve said. “We—me and Robin, and Jonathan and Nancy—had this idea. We wanna take you to a guy in Illinois, he speaks Russian. And you can tell him your whole story and he can tell it to us.” 

I stared at him and nodded my heart sinking. I didn’t know how to tell Steve that I didn’t speak as much Russian as he thought I did, just what I had picked up while in prison. Which hadn’t exactly been school, or full of socialization. And I also didn’t know how to tell Steve that I didn’t have any answers. I didn’t know why I had been taken, I didn’t know where my parents were, probably dead. And, I didn’t know anything about why the prison was in the mall, or whatever strange war I had got caught up in. Of course, there was the Cold War, everyone knew about that, but whatever this was seemed… different. But I knew nothing. I didn’t even know I was in America and not Russia until the day Steve and Robin rescued me. 

“Steve,” I said. “I don’t know…”

“It’ll be okay,” he said reassuringly. “He’s totally cool. Kind of crazy, apparently, but he’s cool. Besides, a road trip would be fun! I bet you’re getting tired of being cooped up in here.” 

“Yeah,” I said. Steve would figure things out later rather than sooner, then. 

“Do you want to come watch a movie with me?” he said. “I got Rocky this time.”

“Okay,” I said. 

Day 12: 

I woke up to Steve poking me in the arm, gingerly, and hissing, “Hey! Hey!” 

“Steve?” I said, grabbing his wrist. He held my hand. My shirt was soaked through and my heart was pounding.

“Are you okay?” he said. “You were, like, crying and yelling and stuff.”

“Bad dreams,” I said. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “Nothing’s going to get you.”

“Can you sleep here?” I asked. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. The bad dreams had been getting worse. 

Steve sat down on the bed. “Are you sure? I mean…”

“Steve,” I pleaded. “Please.” 

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I can sleep here if you want.”

Day 16:

I heard the front door close late one night, and decided to investigate. I hear this pretty often, but I never go out and look at what Steve’s doing. I figured I’m wasn’t really in a place to question him, at first. But Steve and I feel like friends now.

Steve is just coming back inside—I must have been in the shower when he went out. 

“Hey, baby,” Steve said. His eyes were red and a sleepy smile was on his face. “I just stepped out for a bit. You know, to get some air.” 

“Baby?” I said. Steve has never called me baby before. He calls me ‘man’ and ‘hey you,’ and on the phone to Nancy and Jonathan and Robin he refers to me as ‘the girl.’ But never baby. 

Steve suddenly looked taken aback. “Did I say baby?” 

I nodded. Baby. B-A-B-Y baby. That’s one of the words I know how to spell for sure now. 

“Shit, I-I must have gotten confused or something,” he said, looking very embarrassed. “Um, I’m gonna head to bed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Steve,” I said, going back to my room, mildly confused by the interaction but deciding not to question it further. 

Day 18: 

Steve woke me up again. When I was conscious, I realized I was sobbing. 

I have made him sleep in my bed every night. He didn’t want to at first, but when he realized how important it was to me, he gave in. Most nights, when I start dreaming, I make myself wake up enough just to I reach out and feel that Steve’s there and I’m able to calm down. Sometimes Steve reaches back for me and throws an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, or sometimes he pets my hair. But this time, I couldn’t wake myself up. 

Steve held me in his arms and rubbed my back. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s okay, baby, it’s gonna be okay.” 

Baby. Definitely not an accident this time. It felt good to be called something, even if Steve didn’t sound very confident that everything really was going to be okay. I buried my face in Steve’s chest and cried. 

Day 19:

“Honey, I’m home!” Steve called jokingly as he came through the front door. He did it a lot lately—he seemed to think it was funny. I wandered into the living room to say hello. 

“Hey, you wanna come with me to pick up pizza or something? I was gonna get it on the way home from work, but uh, I thought you might wanna ride along. Might cheer you up or something.” 

I nodded excitedly, bounding out of the porch out to Steve’s car. Steve hummed along to the radio the whole way and I stared outside at the dark shadows of the trees and the little yellow twinkle of fireflies. We finally pulled up outside of a little building with a dirty orange sign that read Little Caesar’s. Steve started to get out and I did as well, grabbing the handle of the passenger door. Steve put his hand on my knee. 

“Uh, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come in with me. Stay out here and keep your head down,” Steve said. 

“Why?” I said. I didn’t understand why it was so important that I stay in the cabin. I understood Steve didn’t want me getting lost, or hurt, but I would be safe with him. But by now, it was obvious the Russians weren’t looking for me. They were all gone, wiped out by the Americans—I heard Steve tell Robin on the phone the other day. 

“Who?” I finally said. I had no idea who Steve seemed to think I was, but clearly, he thought I was important. 

“Hawkins lab,” Steve said. I stared at him blankly. “Or more Russians! We don’t know. We just want you to be safe.” 

I sighed and folded my arms, slouching down in my seat. I scowled as I watched Steve walk into Little Caesar’s. 

Day 21:

Until now, I had been very content in the cabin, trying to teach myself English and listening to Steve’s tapes. And eating sandwiches. I cleaned a lot, too. Steve worked and cooked dinner for me, so I tried to keep the cabin tidy to balance it out. And I was so used to working, it felt strange to have nothing to do but learn and eat. Then the evenings were better, when Steve came home and talked about nothing and watched sports or movies he brought home from work, and we played games. It was even nicer on the nights when Robin comes over, and we drank and watched more movies and played more games. But I was starting to get bored, and the incident at Little Caesar’s bothered me. I wanted to go outside. 

I sat in the living room, practicing English, distracted by the breeze coming in through the open window. I wanted to go outside. When I first arrived at the cabin, it was enough to sit in front of the windows and stare at the outside world for a few hours. But now, I wanted to go outside. I knew I wasn’t allowed to go outside—Steve had said more than once that I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere while he was gone. I thought about asking Steve, but I was worried that he would say no, and I didn’t want to lie to him. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, I think, and besides, I don’t think Steve would hurt me if he caught me going outside, either. 

So I would go. Steve had been gone for a few hours, and he wouldn’t be back for a few more. I stepped out on the porch, hesitantly, and took a few deep breaths. I felt shaky. I was allowed out on the porch. I just wasn’t allowed further than where Steve parked his car. 

I walked over to the swing and thought about sitting, but it looked like it wouldn’t hold. I settled for the rocking chair instead. I sat in the rocking chair and stared at the trees and felt the sun on my face. Eventually, I rose shakily to my feet and took a few steps off the porch. I sat on the ground and ran my hands through the grass. I found a tiny caterpillar and picked it up, staring at it for a few moments before gently setting it back down. I stood and looked at the trees, taking deliberate steps forward. I walked briskly through the trees, too giddy with breaking the rules to really look at my surroundings. I didn’t walk for long before I jogged back to the cabin—I didn’t want to risk being caught by Steve. I collapsed back on the couch. I felt guilty for hiding this from him, but going outside (properly outside, not just the porch) was exhilarating. I had never felt so free. 

I felt a bit sick at dinner with Steve that night. He prattled on about college football starting soon, something about Purdue. Steve loved sports. I smiled and nodded, picking at my chicken nuggets and fries. I felt like at any moment he would bang his fist on the table and shout that he knew I went outside, that I put everyone in danger, there would be consequences. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve said suddenly, putting his hand on mine. I flinched back. Steve looked hurt. 

“Nothing,” I said. 

“You seem a little upset,” Steve said. His eyebrows furrowed. “Did Nancy and Jonathan come by again?” 

“No,” I said.

“Is it the bad dreams?” Steve asked

“Nothing!” I said, raising my voice slightly. 

Day 26:

I went outside every day, a little further each time. Sometimes I practiced climbing trees. It got easier to lie to Steve about it. The sick feeling in my stomach went away and I was able to really enjoy being free, to run or walk as far as I wanted. I even began to forget it was against the rules. One night, after dinner, Steve commented that I was looking a lot stronger and healthier already. He wanted to arm wrestle. I obliged, sitting down across from him at the table and taking his hand. I loved Steve’s hands—big and warm and rough. 

Steve let me win, which made me laugh. He had stopped letting me win card games and board games, finally, but he let me win the arm wrestle. Steve was much stronger than me and very athletic. I frequently found myself looking at him when the heat got to be too much and he took off his shirt, or when he was getting out of the shower. I was still very sickly, but I had started to begin to feel softer and have more energy. 

Day 27:

Robin came over to watch a movie with me and Steve after they worked at Family Video. She said she would have come sooner, but her mom was really pissed about the mall thing, and didn’t want her going anywhere except Family Video for awhile. I wished I could go to Family Video with them. Robin and Steve brought home pizza from one of the gas stations. I loved pizza from the gas station. Steve also threw a bag of candy on the kitchen table, and Robin slammed down a 24-pack of beer. 

“Honestly, I am impressed,” Robin said, looking around at all of the posters Steve had put up as well as the baseball bat over the mantel. “I had no idea someone could make this place look sort of cool. Let alone you, Harrington.” 

I started eating the pizza, not even bothering to get a plate. Steve did the same. 

“You guys are total animals,” Robin said, also grabbing a slice. She looked at me. “You do know that Harrington has no manners and is totally weird, right? You’re not being integrated into society, you’re just becoming more of a freak.” 

Robin sometimes said things that I could tell weren’t very nice, but the way she said them made them feel nice. I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled at her. Steve playfully punched her in the shoulder, and she punched him back. 

It crossed my mind that Steve and Robin might end up dating like Nancy and Jonathan and my smile faltered briefly. They seemed very close. I didn’t know much about dating, but I wasn’t stupid—I knew it happened, and I knew I had parents, and sometimes I saw it on TV. 

“I got Scarface today,” Steve said, holding up a VHS with greasy pizza fingers. “This one’s a total classic. You’ll love it.”

I wouldn’t—I hated Steve’s taste in movies. But I didn’t say that. 

“Okay!” I said with a smile. 

Dinner and TV and board games with Steve was the highlight of my day, but they were always a little awkward. He was always asking questions and trying to get me to talk, and I never really had full answers. I think Steve tried to get me to talk so much because he wanted me to practice English with him, but it was hard for me to hear both the movie and him, let alone understand everything and come up with answers. But Robin changed the entire dynamic. Robin was fun, and she and Steve could talk to each other, and then I could only pipe up when I felt comfortable. Steve acted sillier around Robin, less worried. I liked the beer too—it made me feel warm, and a little giggly. 

Steve and Robin drank much more than I did, burping loudly and trying and failing to throw candy in each others’ mouths. Robin threw a few pieces at me, too, and both of them stood up and screamed when I managed to catch one. Steve also liked to punch holes in beer cans and try to drink the entire can as it fell out the bottom, beer running down the sides of his mouth. Robin tried that once or twice, too. 

“Come on,” he said. “You try.”

Steve poked a hole for me and I hesitantly took the can from him, trying to drink the beer as fast as possible. 

“Holy shit!” Steve said when I finished. I grinned at him, feeling dizzy and far more tipsy. I burped loudly, and both Steve and Robin laughed. 

“Hey Steve,” Robin slurred from where she was slumped on the floor. “Now that Billy’s dead, do you think you got your title of Keg King of Hawkins back? Or do you think the crown got passed to Max through some sort of inheritance law?”

Steve groaned and threw a handful of candy at Robin. I giggled, despite not really understanding, and leaned onto Steve, feeling warm and full and sleepy. I never thought I would feel this happy. 

Day 29:

As soon as I walked up to the porch, I saw Steve’s car. My stomach dropped and my knees started to feel a little weak. I wasn’t expecting him home this early. Part of me wanted to bolt, but I’d never make it on my own. I forced myself to take slow steps back to the cabin, my heart pounding in my ears. 

I walked inside and saw Steve talking on the phone. The shotgun was on his back, the revolver was in his belt, and his car keys were on the counter next to his baseball bat. He immediately spun around, fumbling with the revolver, and then saw that it was me. 

“Hold on, Robin,” he said into the phone. “She’s back.”

Steve slammed the phone back down onto the hook and dropped the revolver onto the counter. 

“Where were you?” he demanded, arms folded. 

“Outside,” I said, taking a small step backwards. Steve seemed very angry. He started pacing back and forth, waving his hands around. 

“I had no idea where you were, you could’ve gotten hurt. Christ, I thought you had gotten killed, or someone had taken you! You didn’t leave a note or anything, what was I supposed to fucking think!” he rambled, frustrated. His voice kept getting louder. For the first time since he pointed the gun at me, I felt afraid of Steve. Like he might hurt me. 

“Home early,” I said. 

“You’ve been sneaking out? I trusted you to stay put! How long have you been doing this?” Steve snapped, running a hand through his hair. 

“Eight,” I said, timidly.

“A fucking WEEK?” Steve said, taking a few steps towards me. His finger was extended like he was scolding a child. “You’ve just been wandering around for a week and LYING to me about it? I fucking told you not to go outside. Someone could have SEEN you. Did you see anyone? Did you talk to anyone?”

“No,” I said, starting to shrink back. Steve was scaring me. 

“You can’t just—” Steve spun around, took a deep breath, and composed himself. He looked at me, and his face fell. 

“Shit,” he said, his face softening. Steve reached for me, and I yanked away. I ran to my room, slamming the door behind me. I was shocked at my own rebelliousness—until this point, I had pretty much obeyed Steve like I did the guards. It was the only relationship I had ever known, and it just felt natural—a provider who made sure I didn’t go anywhere I wasn’t supposed to. Steve didn’t carry a gun or a baton, and never made me do anything except eat and hang out with him for a few hours in the evening. But I had been scared to question any of his authority, even to say good night instead of watching basketball with him because I hated basketball. But I realized Steve wasn’t going to hurt me, and new feelings, like a desire for freedom, were starting to bubble up inside of me. It even crossed my mind that this might not be any different than Russia—it was much better than my previous life, and I’d take it over that any day, but I wanted to be free like when I was little, before it happened. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I didn’t understand why Steve was keeping me inside and afraid of telling the American police about me. Steve never told me anything, either. 

“Hey, wait!” he said, but I ignored him, expecting him to force his way into my room and be even angrier. But he didn’t. I heard the door to his room slam a few moments later. 

Nothing happened for a long time. Eventually, I heard Steve call Robin back at one point, and I listened at my door. He told her that I was safe, it was just a misunderstanding. 

Steve knocked on my door a few hours later, and then pushed inside.

“Is it okay if I come in?” he said. I just stared at him balefully. 

He sat down next to me on the bed. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to get upset. It’s just, I got scared. I got scared something happened to you. I didn’t know where you were.” 

“Home early,” I said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Yeah, Keith doesn’t always schedule me to work a full day,” he said. “And I don’t want you to feel like you’re a prisoner here, because you’re not. I don’t wanna be like, like the Russians. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be going outside alone yet, at least until we’re sure nobody’s looking for you.” 

“Okay,” I said. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I just don’t want to lose you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I understand,” I said. “I don’t want… to lose you.”

“Do you still want me to sleep here tonight?” he asks. “I mean, I get it if you don’t. I was a real asshole.” 

“I want you,” I said, looking up at Steve. 

Steve cupped my face in his hands and kissed my forehead. “I want you to be safe.”

Day 31:

Steve and I were okay again. I hated my fight with Steve. Steve was one of the good guys. Things were a little awkward for a day after our fight, but Robin came over to spend the night and drink beer again and things went back to normal. The last time Robin slept over, we were all so drunk we spent the night in the living room, sprawled on the floor. 

But this time, Robin took the couch. In the morning, she saw us coming out of the same bedroom. 

“Ooh, you guys have been sharing a bed? Juicy.” Robin said over the Coco Puffs she had helped herself to. I blushed bright red. 

“Robin, it’s not like that,” Steve said defensively. “She just has nightmares.”

Robin raised her eyebrows. It was clear she didn’t believe Steve. 

Day 35:

Steve said we are going to Illinois to see the man that can speak Russian tomorrow, with Nancy and Jonathan and Robin. I have tried a few times now to say I am not as fluent as they think I am, and I don’t have answers, but they don’t get it. They just reassure me it’s fine, he’s safe, he speaks Russian and can talk to me. I can speak more Russian than English, but Steve and the others seem to think this man can extract all of the answers from me. But it’s not that easy. I can barely talk. They also seem to think I could be someone important and that people could be looking for me. I am pretty sure that no one is looking for me. 

Even the excitement of going outside didn’t outweigh the fact that I dreaded this trip. For starters, nobody was going to be happy with whatever conversation I had with this man. I was also dreading talking about my past. I couldn’t even bear to think about it at all. But I couldn’t let Steve down, not after all he did for me. 

Day 36:

“Hey?” Steve said as we sat in Robin’s driveway the next morning, ready to go to Illinois. “Please don’t mention to anyone that we share a bed sometimes.”

I nodded, confused. “Okay?” I said.

“I just don’t want anyone to think I’m taking advantage of you or something,” he said sheepishly. 

Before I could puzzle out what Steve meant, Robin appeared, sliding into the backseat. 

“’Sup, losers?” she said as Steve pulled out of the driveway. 

When we arrived at Nancy’s, no one came out right away. We sat in the driveway for a minute, and then Robin started getting impatient and said to ring the doorbell. Steve told me that we might have to talk to her mom, and to just be cool and act natural. I didn’t know what be cool meant, but I nodded. We walked up to the door and rang the bell, and sure enough, Nancy’s mom answered. 

“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler,” Steve said awkwardly. 

“Steve!” Nancy’s mom said, looking taken aback and forcing a smile. “Why, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. What a surprise. Nancy, well, she’s in her room right now,” Nancy’s mom paused for a beat, her smile faltering. “With Jonathan.”

Steve forced a smile. “We’re all great friends now, actually, did she not say I was coming?”

“No,” said Nancy’s mom. “She didn’t.” 

She turned away and called for Nancy, then turned back to Steve. 

“Who are your friends?” she said. 

“This is Robin. She works at Family Video with me, she went to school with me and Nancy? And this is Robin’s cousin. Uh, Sam. She’s visiting,” Steve said. 

“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler!” Robin said. She elbowed me in the ribs.

“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler,” I repeated. 

“Hi, Sam,” Mrs. Wheeler said. “Where are you from?”

“Wichita!” Steve said, running a hand through his hair. “She’s from Wichita, Kansas.”

“Yeah!” Robin said. “She’s staying with me for a few weeks.” 

I breathed a sigh of relief when Nancy and Jonathan appeared. Nancy kissed her mom on the cheek. “We’re all going out. I’m spending the night at the Byers’ tonight,” she said.

“Oh, really? All of you? I didn’t think you were all… friends?” Mrs. Wheeler said, looking extremely perplexed.

“Yup, totally!” Nancy said as she and Jonathan practically flew out of the door, slamming it behind them. 

“We’re taking my car,” Jonathan said.

“I thought we were taking my car,” Steve said. 

“No, we can take my car,” Jonathan said.

“Why can’t we take mine?” 

“Because I know how to get there.” 

“Well, you can just tell me where to go,” Steve said. 

“Let’s just take Jonathan’s car!” Nancy said. 

Steve rolled his eyes, Robin shrugged, and the five of us got into Jonathan’s car. I was not particularly fond of Jonathan and Steve’s pissing matches, especially since they generally indirectly concerned me. 

Nancy turned around from the passenger seat and looked at me. 

“Hi,” she said. “You look a lot better. Healthier, I mean.”

“Thank you,” I said. 

Steve was right. The road trip was fun. Even sandwiched in the back with Steve and Robin, I was enjoying myself. It was late summer outside, and warm without being swelteringly hot. It was nice to get out of the cabin and see a change of scenery again, watching the world go by as I listened to the mixtapes playing over Jonathan’s car stereo. The car was pretty awkward and tense. Nobody spoke much. I could tell that Steve wasn’t happy about not taking his car, and that Nancy and Jonathan would probably rather be doing anything else. The hours slipped by, and eventually I rested my head on Steve’s shoulder. I noticed Jonathan look at us in the rearview mirror and frown disapprovingly. 

Eventually, we pulled up outside of a dirty concrete building covered in graffiti and surrounded by garbage. It looked almost abandoned, were it not for the satellites on the roof and cameras outside. 

“Right place?” I asked. 

“Yeah, we’re in the right place,” Jonathan said. “Like I said. He’s a little, um, unconventional.” 

“This is fucking crazy,” Steve muttered. “This is absolutely crazy.” 

We all got out of the car and walked up to the door. Jonathan raised his fist to knock, but before he could, a loudspeaker crackled. I flinched, grabbing onto Steve. 

“Not you fucking kids again. Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, I told you not to come back,” an angry male voice suddenly barked from a speaker. 

“We didn’t want to,” Jonathan said. “But we have another emergency.” 

“Jesus Christ. The rest of you. Look into the camera and state your names. One at a time,” the voice said.

I looked up at a blinking security camera. 

“Robin Buckley?” Robin said. 

“Steve Harrington,” Steve said.

The voice laughed, then said, “Oh, Steve Harrington? Whatever this is has got to be good.” 

There was a long pause. I suddenly realized everyone was looking at me. 

“Hey, that means you too!” the voice demanded. Jonathan nudged me. 

“Just make something up,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I heard that!” the voice said. “Real name!” 

I made a frustrated sound. “Восемь семь три один четыре восемь?” 873148.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” the voice said. The door opened, and a man in a dirty wifebeater, cargo shorts and a bathrobe stood before us. He was balding, but what hair he had left was long, greasy, and dark. He definitely looked like the kind of guy who would be living in a dirty concrete building surrounded by garbage. “Get inside.”

I was reluctant to enter, and Steve steered me in with a hand on the small of my back. The walls were covered in pictures connected with red string and chicken-scratch scrawls. The furniture was filthy, and I saw more than a few bugs. I hadn’t really been bothered by the fact that the rest of the group hadn’t told me about whatever secret war they were fighting. I mean, I understood they didn’t trust me. Americans and Russians were not exactly on good terms. But this was insane. I thought we were just going to visit some regular man who spoke Russian, not this. And I had anticipated some sort of explanation from Jonathan on the drive there, at the very least. 

The bald man offered us all shots of vodka he pulled out of a dingy freezer. Everyone declined. 

“Not even you? What sort of dirty red commie are you?” he said, waving the bottle at me and knocking back the rest of his glass. I just stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Come on!” he said when he didn’t get any chuckles. “I’m kidding.” 

The man gestured for us to follow him into the living room and we all took a seat around a coffee table covered in cigarette butts and fast-food wrappers. 

“Where did you get this girl?” he asked.

“Below the mall, where else?” Steve said. 

The bald man started speaking to me in American-accented Russian. He introduced himself to me as Murray Bauman, and then started taking questions from the group in English, and asking me them in Russian, and repeating back what I said to the group in English. 

The first question was my name, again. I refused to answer. The second was how old are you—I also didn’t know the answer to that question, but I was able to tell him my birthday. September 21th, 1967. He informed me I was seventeen. He asked where I was from, and when I said Philadelphia, everyone was shocked. He asked me how long I was prisoner, and I told him 3,452 days. He started asking me why I was prisoner, and I started to cry. I didn’t want to talk about this, but I couldn’t expect everyone to just drop it after they had all driven me here. Steve started rubbing my back, and Nancy gave me tissues out of her purse. 

I told Murray that it had to do with my parents. I came home from third grade one day, and they were gone, and pretty soon men came to the front door. I answered, and they took me. 

“She’s not fluent in Russian,” Murray said to the group. “She talks like a little kid.” 

“What do you mean she doesn’t speak Russian?” Jonathan asked. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He looked angry. “What other language could she speak?”

“I’ve been helping her practice English,” Steve said. “She’s been picking it up really fast. She talks a lot more now.” 

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “You can barely read, Harrington.”

“It’s going very well!” Steve said defensively. 

Murray kept asking questions. He wasn’t satisfied that I didn’t know anything about what my parents did. He asserted to the group that they had probably been Russian spies. Everyone seemed a little skeptical. He asked me what happened in prison, and I told him about sewing the uniforms and not having enough to eat and being cold and being beaten if I didn’t work fast enough and not being allowed to talk to anyone. I told him I had been questioned about my parents a lot over the years, but I never could say the right things. Everyone in the group seemed pretty upset when this was relayed back, especially Steve. 

He asked me about Starcourt Mall, too. How I ended up there, why I was taken there, and for what purpose. I told him that I hadn’t been making quotas, and I was threatened with disappearing if I didn’t start making them, because I was becoming expendable. I still didn’t work fast enough, and one morning I was dragged out of my cell and injected with something. I thought I would die, but when I woke up, I was just in a different cell with other prisoners around me. Men, too, not just women like before. Nothing happened for a long time, and the guards wouldn’t speak to me at all, just slid my food through a slot. 

“Why was she taken to Hawkins, then?” Nancy said. 

A heavy silence hung over the room for several moments. 

“Food,” Jonathan said bitterly.

“What do you mean, food?” Robin said. 

“The Russians were trying to open the door, right? They knew that whatever came out would need to eat,” Jonathan said. 

“So the expendable prisoners were sent to Hawkins when the Russians started to open the door. Presumably to feed that thing,” Murray said.

“How long were you in Starcourt?” Nancy asked.

“Three-three-seven-eight Russia. Seven-four Starcourt,” I said ‘Starcourt’ with some difficulty. “Three-six here.” 

“That’s how she tells time,” Steve said. “She scratches little tallies into the wall with a nail.”

“What happened to everyone else?” Robin said. 

“The US Military took everyone, probably,” Murray said. “They would have had no idea she’s missing.”

Steve, Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan all breathed a sigh of relief. “So no one’s looking for her.”

Murray shrugged. “Doubt it,” he said. 

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Are we done here? So you kids can scram?” Murray said. “And don’t come back.” 

The ride home was awkward. I was still sniffling intermittently. Everyone seemed a lot more somber than the drive there. Robin didn’t even have it in her to complain or make quips, and Jonathan didn’t even turn on the stereo—Nancy did, only after the silence became completely unbearable. Eventually, Jonathan pulled up outside of a Seven-Eleven gas station. I expected everyone to make me stay in the car, but Steve took my hand and pulled me inside with the rest of the group. 

The Seven-Eleven smelled amazing, like fried food and candy. Steve brought burgers and other greasy food home often, and I would never get used to the smell. It reminded me of that first trip to Molly’s Drive-In, or very distant memories of fairs when I was little. Steve told me to pick out whatever I wanted, his own arms full of junk food. I selected some brightly colored candy called Skittles, a Coke, and a soft pretzel with cheese sauce. 

As the five of us set our food down on the counter, I caught a glimpse of us in the mirror behind the register, aimed at catching shoplifters. The word ‘family’ crossed my mind. Even if Nancy and Jonathan hated Steve, this was the closest I had been to other human beings, ever, in my life.

“Can we listen to something else now?” Steve said as we got into the car. “I’m sick of The Talking Heads, The Velvet Underground, The Smiths… Can’t we just listen to some fucking Bruce Springsteen?”

Jonathan rolled his eyes, ignoring Steve. 

“I like it,” I said hesitantly. 

“Really?” Jonathan said, sounding excited. “You want me to make you some tapes?”

“Yes please,” I said. 

The mood in the car lifted significantly with the presence of music and food. I ate my soft pretzel, drank my Coke, and looked out the window at the night sky. The soft pretzel and the Skittles were new foods. Steve brought home candy and snacks, but it was usually gummy bears, chocolate, and potato chips. I liked the Skittles a lot. I leaned on Steve, who was eating beef jerky, a Milky Way, and also drinking a Coke like me. 

******

“Steve,” I said when we got home. I hoped he would understand what I was asking, and I hoped he wouldn’t get angry. “I want to know things now. You can trust me.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right. What do you want to know?” 

I decided to start with something easy, something small. “Nancy and Jonathan… don’t like you.”

Steve flopped onto the couch. Thankfully, he didn’t seem angry. I sat down next to him. 

“Nancy is my ex-girlfriend,” he said. “Jonathan is her boyfriend now.” 

“Oh,” I said. I had figured as much, but I wanted more detail. 

Steve was very silent for several moments, then he burst out into words, as he was prone to do. 

“But it’s more complicated than that. I mean, look, I was a real dick in high school, okay? And this whole…government and monsters shit, it made things really complicated. It’s a lot to explain.” 

I stared at him expectantly. Then he started talking. Eventually, Steve told me that was enough for tonight, but he’d tell me more tomorrow, and the day after, until I had heard everything about the Upside Down and Hawkins Laboratory and the Russians. 

Day 39:

I sat on the floor watching TV when I heard a car come up the road. I thought Steve might be home early, so I walked out on the porch. It wasn’t Steve—it was Jonathan. Nancy wasn’t with him this time. 

“Hi,” he said, getting out of his car and walking up the steps. He held a cardboard box. “I brought you some mixes. Just like I promised. I think you’ll really like them.”

“Thank you, Jonathan,” I said, touched. At first, I was kind of afraid of Jonathan. He didn’t seem to like me very much. But Steve had started telling me about everything that happened to his family, with his mom and his little brother and the stuff Steve did, and it made sense why he wouldn’t want me on his plate, too. Now, it seemed like Jonathan had been trying to make amends. 

“Maybe you could give me and Nancy a call when you’re done, tell us what you think?” he said. 

“Yes,” I said. “I would like that.” 

Another friend. 

Day 41:

Jonathan’s records and tapes gave me a new distraction, but I was starting to get bored. I want to ask Steve to go outside again. Since Murray told them no one is looking for me, and everyone let me go inside Seven-Eleven, I hoped Steve will say yes. But I didn’t want him to be angry again. 

I pushed my eggs around my plate. I had learned how to make eggs, and sometimes I even made Steve eggs. I taught myself while Steve was at work, and I only burned myself once. After the eggs I learned how to make mac and cheese. Spaghetti would be next.

“Out with it,” Steve said. He always knew when something was wrong.

“Steve,” I said finally, pushing my TV dinner around on its tray. “Go outside? Please?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. We can do that. Wanna go for a hike after dinner?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes,” I said. 

“I’m sorry I got so mad at you last time,” Steve said. “We all really thought, we thought the Russians might still be after you. We didn’t know you were—”

“Expendable,” I said. 

“You’re not expendable,” Steve said. 

I looked away. Steve leaned across the table and placed his hand lightly on my forearm, rubbing gently. “Hey,” he said. “All that means is the Russians for sure aren’t looking for you. And that’s good, because that means we don’t have to tell Mrs. Byers about this and Jonathan is gonna get off our case. And it also means that you can start working at Family Video with me and Robin a lot sooner than we thought.”

I brightened up. “Really?” I said. 

“Really,” Steve said.

“Tomorrow?” I asked. 

“Ah, jeez,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t really know if that’s a good idea yet.”

“Steve,” I said. “Please?”

“I’m really not trying to be an asshole about this, I swear,” he said. “It’s just… you need to be able to talk to work. And more importantly, I need to get you a fake birth certificate and ID. Nancy and Jonathan said they’d try to figure that out, but we haven’t really made any progress. I mean, we have to wait until your English is better, and come up with a credible fake story for where you came from.” 

“Okay,” I said, disappointed. 

“Aw, please don’t look at me like that,” he said. 

I perked up and nodded excitedly. 

“Go put on some boots. Let’s go for a walk,” Steve said. 

I put on a pair of Nancy’s boots and joined Steve in the living room. As Steve and I stepped off the porch, he took my hand, whistling a little as he walked along. Steve’s hand felt big and secure. It was still summer outside—the air was hot but cooling down slightly in the evening. It never got as hot in Russia as it did here. Steve finally told me where I was—Indiana. Hawkins, Indiana. He pulled out a map one night when he was telling me about his friends and the war, and found a map of the United States and pointed it out, making a little star. I pointed to Philadelphia—it was a lot bigger on the map. Steve flipped to a map of the world and asked if I knew where I had been in Russia. I didn’t know, but it was somewhere cold. I liked the Indiana summer—hot and green and full of the sound of crickets and cicadas. I loved being warm. I was warm all the time now. Steve frequently complained of the heat, sweating through his shirt and saying he needed to fix the damn AC, telling me I’d get sick of this eventually, but I never did. 

“You know, it’s actually a pretty good idea for you to start going on hikes,” Steve said. “It’ll help you get a little stronger. Just um, bring water with you. And don’t go too far from the cabin, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. 

“Maybe you can start, I don’t know, tossing around a ball with me or something?” he said eagerly.

I looked at Steve and made a face. I did not share his love of football, basketball, or anything else involving a ball. I had been reluctant to tell Steve at first, but he had started to pick up on my distaste and interest when I was unable to produce any strong opinions on whether or not Troy Lewis and Tom Mitchell from the Purdue basketball team were as good as he said. 

“Come on, just a little! It’ll be fun! You need to get your strength up,” he insisted. 

I shrugged. I knew I would relent—I loved being outside, and I loved being with Steve. 

Day 45:

Steve and I sat on the couch watching TV. Neither of us were really paying attention. Suddenly, Steve sat up.

“You don’t mind if I light up, do you?” he said. “Like inside.”

“No,” I said, thinking he meant cigarettes. I was used to cigarettes—my father had chain-smoked constantly, and so did the guards. 

Steve pulled out a small white paper cigarette and a lighter from the inside of his jacket. It smelled funny, like BO but more earthy. Like a skunk. I made a face as Steve lit up. Steve saw my face. 

“This is marijuana,” Steve said, blowing a few smoke rings. “It gets you high. You want to try it?”

I nodded. He held the cigarette to my lips and I inhaled again. 

“Breathe deep,” he said. I did, and started coughing, smoke billowing out of my mouth and nose. My eyes were watering. 

“Easy,” Steve said, giving me some water and taking another hit himself. “How do you feel?”

“A little buzzy,” I said. 

“Want more?” Steve asked. 

Steve and I shared the joint, then another. I felt warmer and more giggly, and kind of hungry. I noticed Steve’s eyes were red and his face was a little flushed. Steve stretched out, putting his feet up on the coffee table and an arm behind my head. I leaned onto his chest. I was becoming more and more comfortable with touching Steve. 

“I don’t know why I felt like I had to be so secretive about smoking pot,” he said. “I should have just given you some. I guess I thought you wouldn’t like it. Nancy fucking hated that I smoked. But you’re cool. Real cool.” 

I blushed and remembered when Steve came in late and called me baby. I wondered if he was going to call me baby again. The only other times he called me baby were when I woke up crying. 

“Smoke a lot?” I asked. 

“Couple nights a week. I’d go out and do it on the porch. You can smoke with me now, though. Robin smokes too, more than me. We get it from the guy who works at the gas station.” Steve took another drag off the cigarette and held it to my lips. I sighed out the smoke, not coughing this time, and settled back down onto Steve’s chest. 

“Food tastes better when you’re high,” Steve said, procuring two bags of Skittles from inside of his jacket. “And music sounds better. Do you want to listen to records? We can even put on one of Jonathan’s.”

“Yes,” I said. 

Steve and I knelt in front of the record player and I picked out a record by The Cure called Three Imaginary Boys. Steve was right—music does sound better. I sat, mesmerized and watching the record spin. Steve motioned for me to open my mouth and tossed a Skittle inside. I giggled and threw one at him. I felt warm and buzzy and happy. Steve looked at me for too long, his eyes warm. He reached out and touched a piece of my hair, brushing it off my forehead. 

Day 49: 

I used to feel like I would never want anything but the cabin, that the cabin was all I could have asked for. When Steve first gave me the milkshake, I was so happy I could have died. I felt that way the first night Robin came over too. And most recently, when Steve and I smoked marijuana. But lately, my thoughts wander to the neon signs, the gas stations, Molly’s Drive-In, wherever Nancy and Jonathan and Robin are, and wherever Steve goes. I loved living in the cabin more than anything, but I was starting to get lonely during the day. 

That night, over burgers with Robin, I asked Steve again.

“Steve,” I said. “Family Video?” 

“We’ve talked about this,” Steve said gently. “You don’t have ID or any documents yet, and you need those to get a job. I mean, if you were born in Philadelphia I feel like we could get them somehow, but you need to be able to talk to customers to work there. And I mean talk to customers a lot,” Steve said. 

“She doesn’t need ID. If I play hello titty with Keith, he’ll give us whatever we want. Especially since another girl will be working there. I’ll say she lost it in the move.” 

“But you’re a lesbian,” Steve said, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“You don’t need to be straight to have boobs, Steve,” Robin said, rolling her eyes and jiggling her chest. 

“Lesbian?” I said.

Robin and Steve looked at each other. 

“Uhh,” Steve said. 

“I don’t like men, I like other women,” Robin said. She sounded a little apprehensive. 

“Oh,” I said, nodding. That sounded fine to me. Robin looked very relieved. I didn’t really understand why she cared so much. “Okay,. But no Family Video.”

Steve frowned. “Please don’t look at me like that. How about we go out to eat? Not just the drive-in or to pick up pizza, either. We can go inside.”

“Okay,” I said again, feeling a bit better. 

“What do you want to eat? Pizza, burgers, Chinese?” he asked. 

“Chinese,” I said. We hadn’t had Chinese yet. 

Day 79:

This morning, Steve was in a fantastic mood. He made pancakes, which was unusual for him. Generally, he was kind of grumpy in the morning. Usually, one of us made eggs or we ate cereal. 

“Steve,” I said. “You seem happy.” 

Steve shrugged. “Just woke up on the right side of the bed, for once, I guess,” he says, squirting whipped cream on the pancakes. There’s even chocolate chips in them. 

I heard Steve’s car in the driveway in mid-afternoon, and I assumed that Keith scheduled him for another half-day. When he came in, he wasn’t alone. Robin was with him. 

“Happy birthday!” they both yelled when they came through the front door. I looked up from my book, confused.

“Birthday?” I asked. I had no idea what month it was. I remembered learning them as a child, and I even remembered the names of some of the months, but I had long forgotten them, instead measuring times in tallies and seasons. 

“It’s September twenty-first,” Steve said, sitting on the floor next to me. “You’re eighteen.” 

“Wanna go buy some cigarettes?” Robin asks. “Ooh, or maybe some scratch offs. Very exciting.”

“But seriously, I was thinking we could all go do something fun. What do you want to do? Bowling, roller skating, come on, you pick,” Steve said. 

“Movie,” I said. “At the theatre.” 

“We can take her to Back The Future!” Robin said excitedly. “She’ll totally love it.” 

I liked Robin’s taste in movies way more than Steve’s. She kept mentioning making me watch Star Wars sometime. But we had to wait for a weekend off, because apparently we had to make a whole day of it because there were three movies. Steve had been putting off the Star Wars day, because he didn’t really care about Star Wars that much. 

The movie theatre was nicer than the run-down Chinese restaurant, with its chipped wooden booths and dirty glass statues of dragons. It wasn’t on the side of Hawkins closest to the cabin, it was on the side of Hawkins nearest to the mall and Steve’s house, where everything was nicer and cleaner and not run down. There had been a movie theatre in the mall that Steve liked to go to, but since the mall was gone, there was just the old cinema, the one Steve’s friends graffitied before the fight with Jonathan a few years prior. Steve and Robin got a giant tub of popcorn, a big red-and-blue slushie, and a few boxes of candy for us to share. I sat in between Robin and Steve, towards the back. Steve said the back was the best place to sit. I liked Back to the Future a lot more than most of the movies Steve showed me. It was about a boy who went back in time, accidentally made his mom fall for him, and had to make sure his parents got together so he didn’t stop existing. The entire movie, Steve kept an arm over my shoulders, throwing popcorn and candy into his mouth with the other hand. Occasionally, he tossed pieces into my mouth or poked me in the mouth with the slushie straw until I took a sip, which made me giggle. 

On the way home from the theatre, we stopped at Little Caesar’s again to get pizza and the gas station for beer—Steve and Robin had fake IDs. When we arrived home, there was a cardboard box from Jonathan and Nancy on the porch and a voicemail on the machine. 

“Hi,” Nancy’s voice said. “It’s me and Jonathan. We wanted to call and say happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday!” Jonathan said. 

“Happy birthday,” I repeated softly to myself. I held the box in my hands. 

“You can call them back later,” Robin said. “We have presents for you, too.” 

Steve produced a mountain of boxes and bags from his bedroom. I opened Jonathan and Nancy’s present, first—makeup and nail polish from the drug store from Nancy and some more records and tapes from Jonathan. Robin said she would teach me how to put the makeup on later. 

Steve and Robin’s boxes mostly contained Robin’s old clothes, clothes from Salvation Army, and candy. There were some tapes and records that Robin and Steve had picked out, too. Steve and Robin made me wait to open one box until the end, telling me that it was special. 

“This is for all of us to share,” Steve said excitedly when it was finally time to open the box. “Go on, open it.” 

I unwrapped it carefully, a little apprehensive. Inside was a strange glass tube with a mouthpiece. I held it up, bewildered. 

“That,” Steve said. “Is a bong.”

“Bong?” I repeated.

“It’s for weed,” Robin said. “It gets you totally, and I mean totally, fucking blasted.” Her eyes lit up like she had suddenly been hit with an idea. “Let’s all get super high, and then I can give you a makeover.” 

Robin took the bong from my hands and ran to the kitchen to put water, ice, and weed in it. She took a hit from it, and then gave it to Steve, and then Steve gave it to me. The bong made me feel like I was going to die, but Robin was right. It got me totally fucking blasted. Robin gave me water and Steve rubbed my back as I coughed. Once I could breathe again, they both took a few more hits. Steve offered it to me one more time, telling me I should take it easy. I took another hit, but slower this time. I was so high I felt a little dizzy, but a good kind of high. I looked around at all the paper and boxes and stuff strewn all over the floor and felt warm and fuzzy inside. Home. Family. Friends. 

“Come on, sit down,” Robin said, gathering up all of the makeup and plopping down on the floor in the middle of the living room. I knelt in front of her. Steve sat on the couch, watching intently as Robin began to rub stuff all over my face as I tried to stay as still as possible. 

“Hey, if you guys are sharing a bed, does that mean I can take the other bedroom? I can’t stand my mom lately,” Robin said as she tilted my face back and forth, stabbing my eye with the brush. 

“I mean, fine by me,” Steve said, shrugging. He turned to me. “Are you okay with that?” 

I waited until Robin stopped touching my face before nodding. Robin looked excited at the prospect of living with me and Steve. 

“Bangs,” Robin said suddenly, her face lighting up. “I think I should give her bangs.” 

“Bangs?” I said. 

“Like across your forehead. Is it okay?” she said. 

I glanced at Steve uncertainly. 

“I think you’d look good,” Steve shrugged. 

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Bangs.” 

Robin ran off to rummage through drawers and came back with scissors. I didn’t mind Steve and Robin doing things to my hair. I was used to having my head shaved, and I trusted Robin. A flicker of doubt crossed my mind—I liked having the opportunity to grow out my hair. But Robin didn’t say she was going to cut a lot of it off. 

“Hold still,” she said, picking up the hairbrush and brushing some of my hair down across my forehead. She started snipping slowly, a careful line across my eyebrows. I watched the hair fall, wondering what I would look like. My hair has grown out to my ears, which is the longest it had been since I got taken. Robin brushed some of the hair off of my shirt and then went back to doing my makeup. Robin told me to blink, putting black stuff on my eyelashes. She dabbed pink stuff from a tube onto my lips and brushed powder all over my face. She finished off with a few barrettes on either side of my hair. Robin grabbed my jaw when she finished and turned my head towards Steve. 

“You look really nice,” Steve said softly. He cleared his throat. “Good job, Robin.”

Robin held up a mirror and confirmed what Steve had said. I was surprised at what I saw. The makeup was fun—funky green eyeshadow and eyeliner and pink lipstick. My eyes were red and squinty from all of the smoking. I felt like a girl in a commercial for the mall on TV. I liked my bangs, too—they framed my face and made me look like a whole new person. I smiled at her and thanked her. 

Robin and Steve and I sat up in the living room for a few more hours, eating pizza, drinking beer, playing board games and taking bong rips, until I got so sleepy I was dozing onto Steve’s shoulder and we all stumbled to bed. 

“Are you really on board with Robin moving in?” Steve asked as I changed into my pajamas. “I wanna make sure you’re okay with it.” 

“Yes,” I said. I liked Robin a lot. She was a friend. I felt differently about Steve. I climbed into bed next to Steve and snuggled up to him, resting my head on his chest, and he put his arm around my shoulders. I liked to cuddle with Steve for a bit before bed. I felt like it helped with the nightmares. 

“You know, I think you can start at Family Video in the next week or two,” Steve said. “Me and Robin have been talking to Keith, he seems on board. You’d probably have to work in the back, though.”

“Really?” I said. Me and Steve and Robin. Robin and Steve and Me. In Family Video during the day, in the cabin at night. My chest felt warm and happy and my throat felt tight. Outside. The movies. The drive-in. The grocery store. Robin had even mentioned an arcade, where apparently there were video games. 

“I mean, yeah, if you want to. It kind of sucks, though. Keith is like, a total weirdo loser. But he won’t bother you, I mean, not really, he’ll just like stand next to you and mouth breathe. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just real desperate to get a girlfriend. But if he gives you any kind of real trouble, just let me know, okay?” 

I didn’t really care about anything Steve was telling me. I was too caught up in the prospect of working at Family Video. 

“Family Video,” I said, thinking very hard. “Steve, are we a family?”

“I mean, yeah,” Steve said. “Usually a family is like, I dunno, a mommy and a daddy and some kids, but I suppose we are.” 

I couldn’t contain myself anymore. I climbed on top of Steve and kissed him. 

Steve buried his hand in my hair and pulled me closer, pressing his hand on the small of my back. “I have wanted to do that for so long,” he said. 

“Why not?” I asked.

“I didn’t want to make you feel, you know, like you had to do anything with me. I didn’t want you to feel like I’d stop taking care of you if you didn’t want to.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I kissed Steve again, putting my hands on his chest. 

Steve’s hands began to fumble with the bottom of my shirt and I kept kissing him, him trying to get words out in between. “You’ve—you’ve never done this before,” he said. “We don’t have to—if you want to go slow, I understand—”

“No,” I said. “Not slow.”

“Well, okay,” he said, pulling my shirt off. “If you’re sure. Have you done this before?”

“No,” I said. “Seen it on TV.” 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he said, covering my mouth with his other hand. “If Robin hears us, she’ll make fun of us for weeks!”

I nodded, and Steve removed his hand, moving to start kissing my neck lightly. 

“Elise,” I said, gasping and letting out a small moan. “My name is Elise Packard.” 

“Elise,” Steve said, fiddling with a lock of my hair. He kissed me again. “Elise.”


End file.
